Power of the Sword.

A Look Inside Spiritual Warfare

Atop the castle spire, the bright yellow flag rippled and shuddered in the high winds, its fabric making a loud slapping noise as it whipped the air. A wide moat surrounded the drawbridge, clanking in the wind, protecting the walls of the castle. Beyond the moat, the path split into two directions: one towards the drawbridge, the other away from it.

A knight on a white horse, adorned in dazzling white armor and a lance in hand, stood poised for battle on the path below the castle that lead to the drawbridge. His helmet was there to protect his head from the darts and arrows of the enemy, creating a safe cocoon against the onslaught of false accusations and deceptions flying in all directions. The breastplate was a shining silver armor that enveloped his heart. The heart had to be defended from the searing darts of lies and deceptions that infiltrated the mind. These thoughts could worm their way into the heart, creating doubts that would continue to fester and grow.

With just a single thrust of his lance, the knight was so precise that his enemies often stumbled back from the force. He had witnessed firsthand that his foes were no match for his skill. He usually did battle with bullies. Their words dripped with menace as they threatened and frightened those who were weak and unaware of their rights as royal citizens.

The knight detested the enemies of the king, with a loathing that was palpable in the air. He abhorred the way he was victimizing the villagers. They, too, were the king’s people. They were often the easiest prey to these detestable creatures. As he sat upon his horse, he could hear the thundering of the enemy hordes marching down the path toward the unsuspecting villagers.

These creatures were minions, and they had short, stout bodies that had no neck to hold up their hideous-looking heads. Their teeth were glaring white fangs. Their expressions were only anger and hatred, and their eyes looked haunted and tortured with pain as if someone or something was driving and tormenting them to commit their horrendous deeds.

These gruesome beasts threw nets and stones at the villagers with a loud thud. With hardly any effort, the hordes corralled them. The villagers, clad in rough peasant attire, hung their unarmed hands limply at their sides. They made no effort to fight back when the minions attacked them.

Without helmets, the villagers could feel the cold, hard metal of their enemy’s swords against their skulls. Capturing their thoughts was an effortless task for the hordes, and upon this, the leader of the hordes released a thick, dark cloud over them, creating confusion in their minds. Many of them surrendered in fear, their sobs echoing through the air as they cried out in pain, which brought a sick joy to the hordes, who managed a twisted laugh each time one of the villagers froze in fear and cried.

One minion was tormenting a man, sneering in his ear, “You’re a loser. You’ll always be alone.” The man crumbled to the ground and cried, weeping and sobbing that he was alone and no one loved him. His mind raced for an escape from the searing pain in his head. The minion, knowing his thoughts, produced a pint of whisky for him to drink. He knew the man would cling to it and drift off into a dream, trying to drown all of his pain in the bottle, at least for a little while. Then more of the ominous liquid would be placed before him. He knew the man would continue to spiral further into the abyss of suffering, a vicious cycle he had no way of escaping.

Another minion was hoisting a net over a group of people saying, “You are helpless in your addiction. You will never get free.” Then he threw the net over the top of them and caught them all, and watched them struggle helplessly, trying to get out of the net. “They have caught us!” they would scream. “The hordes have captured us!” This made the horrible minion laugh an appalling hoarse laugh. He knew this catch would garner him a higher position in the dark kingdom.

One by one, the hordes pulled them into their nets. The sounds of their triumphant gurgles and shouts, similar to the noise of frenzied apes, filled the air. The white knight sat on his horse and helplessly watched the inept villagers get pummeled under that cloud of darkness. But a powerful light inside of him sparked and grew brighter as he watched the villagers go down. The light was driving him to act. Each scream and plea for mercy compelled him to save these poor people.

The inside of his armor shone so brightly that it was like standing in the sun, bathing in its radiating light. The light spilled out from his armor and anything it touched became filled with a warmth that was palpable. It was a wave of love that surrounded and protected everything in its path. This light, his new and greatest weapon, was taking shape before his eyes, as the light burned so brightly it was like a blade of white fire that cut through the darkness.

His stance was unyielding on the outside. He looked fierce, like a wall of steel, but the light inside of him was overflowing with kindness and love. And the light of love was stronger than the fortress of hate that stood in front of him. It made him feel invincible. He gripped the lance in his hand and raised it for battle.

He was preparing to battle the hordes when the commander of the dark army, attired in black armor, appeared in front of him on a black horse. The nefarious commander halted with his stallion at the dividing line on the track between the gloom and the brightness. His black horse standing nose to nose with the white horse. The dark commander sat in silence upon his horse while staring at the white knight. He was using every ounce of intimidation that he had in him. His experience with the people of the king, just like the hordes, was that his presence alone would be enough to make his opponent crumble.

The white knight sat on his steed with his lance still poised in the air and lowered it because he sensed that showing fear would only give the darkness power. He sat motionless and stared back at the dark commander. The two horses snorted in each other’s direction, then the white horse stepped towards the dark horse. As he stepped, the light coming from the knight pushed the darkness back. The dark horse made a backward step. The white horse took two more steps, then three, and the dark horse backed up with each step, and more light pushed the boundary of the darkness further back. Then the dark commander unexpectedly jerked the reins back on his horse, causing him to rear his front legs up into the air. He and his rider fled and vanished into the darkness.

The white knight sat on his horse, taken aback by the effortless fight. He felt a gust of wind as the king appeared and stepped beside him. His presence was a shimmering light, radiating the same intensity of the light within the knight. He gently patted the knight’s horse, stroking his long flaxen mane. The horse flared its nostrils and stamped its hoof in approval; the sound echoing off the castle walls.

It was customary for the king to appear before the knight after a battle. He took pleasure in talking about both the triumphs and the failures with the knight. Today they would talk about victory. The knight had many questions, but one, in particular, kept him puzzled. The knight pondered what exactly it was that had made the dark commander spin around and run away in fear so easily. He felt it must have been this new weapon, the light, but he wanted to know why it made him run.

So, the knight looked down at the King and asked, “What made him run”?

The King only answered, “He was scared”.

Perplexed by this simple answer, the knight said,

“Of What?”

“Of me.” The king answered.

Then he said, “The darkness is afraid of the light. The darkness is afraid of the light of my power. Just the mention of my name lights up the darkness with so much power that it is enough to send him screaming back to the pit where he came from. Just the sight of my glory, or the truth of my words, makes them tremble with fear.”

At this, the knight understood, and he knew what he could do to help the villagers. He ordered that swords be sent to every one of them. And, he sent a message to them, telling them how to stand firm in the truth of the king’s word, and to hold up their swords to the hordes and declare the truth against their lies. He told them to speak to the hordes and say, “By the authority of the King! No weapon formed against me shall prosper!”

So, swords were dispersed and the villagers raised their newly gotten swords, and meekly spoke to the hordes, saying, “No weapon formed against me shall prosper.” And others said, “By authority of the King. Go!”

The hordes looked around hesitantly, their eyes squinting as they searched the faces of the people to see if they truly meant what they said. A few of the minions snickered in response to the villagers’ exaggerated display of strength. Then, a sudden beam of light shone from the king, illuminating the tip of one of the villagers’ swords. Filled with a surge of power, the man spun around and bellowed at the minion in front of him.

“You have no authority here! Go!”

A flash of white light struck the minion, and he crashed to the ground. The dark lies and deception that held the newly emboldened man in bondage for years fled from him. Then more villagers became emboldened and took their swords and cut the others loose from the nets that bound them and bandaged their wounds. Everywhere the villagers looked, a feeling of tranquility and warmth filled the air, and soon a strength like never before flowed through them.

When the weaker villagers saw how easily the minions fell from the light, they too shouted more boldly, their swords gleaming. “No weapon formed against me shall prosper!” they said. “Go! In the name of the king!” they commanded.

The villagers kept pushing the hordes further and further until the last glimmer of light from the king’s light disappeared and the darkness swallowed the beasts. The darkness had seemed so overwhelming before, but now the villagers were illuminated by the light, making it a stark contrast to before.

With the light shining upon them, they could feel their true selves radiating back. From that day forward, the people grew in their confidence to fight the hordes. They took off their peasant clothes and put on the royal garments that the king made for them. From that day on; the villagers knew the power of the sword of truth and light. They knew NOTHING could defeat it, and they were no longer helpless at the hands of darkness.

Marjorie Whitley is a musician and photographer with a prophetic vision. With every snap of her camera, every word she writes, and every note she sings, she shares the messages of hope, healing, and encouragement she receives from her visions of heaven.

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